Retreat

A crest of moon , a steady boat sailing across. A distant light of a star reaching to tell of a force that travelled, and reached right here with no distraction to deter or stray; only an eye that occurs here and a mind that infers an origin of a lamp that burns in a primordial cave. Beyond, I do not know. Myriads of visions arise and go; walking even as I fall and rise, trying to breathe even as I die, even as I grasp, letting go. Looking at the moon, I recall the sun. In the rise of the wave, I already begin to sense the fall of the ebbing wave. And in the crash of the wave, I see the arising once again, surmounting the dissipation of the tide. The heron will watch and one day spread the wings. The wings have the wisdom and the call of the sea. New moon

A River Flows In You A river flows in you. Can you not hear the sounds? Over the rock the echo of the moments when the river kissed the rock and the rain, over the sand as the river sang in the muffled, languorous tones, Maybe it's the spring somewhere near the river's home. Can you hear the tones of love singing with equanimity? Maybe the river recalls the times in the past, the times of farewells and meeting again. the times when the river watched the currents and let them go from here to another shore. Recall the day; recall is what the river is for; so recall, the day when the river held you back just to say that the river loves you because you love the river, and you lingered, rather too long till it was time to move on and move too far away. Passing by, forget not; recall. That was the day. Originally shared by Bong Ferrer